Sugarplum Fantasies
by PBContessa
Summary: This is a one parter Christmas fic. Sydney reflects on her childhood wishes, and realizes that she got so much more


Hey guys, here is the birthday fic I wrote for Christine:

Title: Sugarplum Fantasies  
Author: BristowBoyScout545 or Tess  
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias, however, Noel and these words are my own.   
Genre: Fluffy Christmas fic. OMV! My first story with out one or more character deaths!  
Rating: G…really? Nah, I'll say PG  
Dedication: To Christine, my best friend. Hope you have a wonderful birthday and have fun watching sexy MV in NBK! I love you and hope you like your birthday fic!

Sugarplum Fantasies  
You sit by the fireplace, the heat created by the dancing flames paling in comparison to the warm ease of contentment you bask in. You turn your head to look at him. He stands there, a few feet away, your child in his arms. He rocks her slowly, cooing a soft, soothing, lullaby.

"Adeste fideles, laeti triumphantes. Venite venite in Bethlehem."

This gentle melody always calms her, the Romance language slipping easily from her father's lips and banishing the clouds of fear and uncertainty that remain after her abrupt awakening a few minutes before. You allow a smile to gradually spread until your grinning happily, almost laughing, at the simple thought that your daughter has only been sung carols, her Yule birth privileging her with the gift of festive music and breathtaking decorations. It was as if the world had been preparing for her arrival, this long awaited and well deserved joy finally gracing her parents. You. You and Vaughn. Your child.

"Noel." You hear him whisper in that tender tone he uses with his two loves. Your grin widens as you recall hours spent in heated discussion, only for the matter to be concluded in one quiet moment. He thought Ester was too old fashioned. You thought Christopher clashed with Bristow. But that night, five evenings prior to this tranquil Christmas Eve, you had reached and unspoken agreement. You held her in your arms, both of you gazing upon the immaculate face of your daughter for the first time in sheer awe at the miracle created by your love, then you gently breathed, "Noel", your simultaneous whispers mingling in a collection of amazement, passion, and silent prayer of humbling gratitude that this precious moment had been bestowed upon you.

You watch as he sets her ever so carefully beneath the fluffy white blanket lining the little bassinet on the sitting room floor. She has a crib of course; it sits in the corner of the nursery by the window looking out onto the garden, but you know that Michael prefers to have her close. He is now the guardian angel of two souls, and he does not take his duties to either lightly. He turns to face you, the purest of expressions overcoming his face. His eyes are bright with elation at the serenity of the scene. You remember as they brimmed with tears at the sight of your newborn, his emerald irises shining with fierce pride.

He takes the few steps that close the gap separating him from you, and he joins you on the thick beige carpet, his legs stretching out beside him as he supports his body on one elbow, facing the flames. You reach out to him, and he draws closer, your arm crossing his torso and setting lazily beside his fingertips as his head rests in your lap. He intertwines his fingers with yours, bringing them lovingly to his lips before holding them beside his heart. Your other hand tangles in his warm, sandy brown locks, brushing the soft strands in a tender manner.

You both stare into the blaze before you. He used to hate fire. It took you from him; it destroyed you. Now that fire is long gone, its ashes cold and gray, lost through time. But one more inferno still rages, the burning passion that can never, will never be extinguished. Your smile returns, or perhaps it never left and was resting within your memories, along with your heart. It doesn't matter.

You think about when you were a little girl at Christmastime. You always imagined that someday you would spend this holiday in a big house with a white picket fence, a lush, green, backyard with a swing set, a husband with a nice, steady job, and loads of happy, giggling children. Instead, here you are at your apartment by the beach with a small pitch where the flower garden blooms with the man you love, who happens to be your partner in the Central Intelligence Agency, and a tiny sleeping infant.

You aren't planning on moving form this flat any time soon, as a great deal of sentiment is attached to it. Here, you have been able to start anew, rekindle your love, and strengthen your bond. Here, you have cooked and burned romantic dinners, watched hockey games, relaxed after work, made love, even conceived a child. This place is special.

You aren't married or even engaged, but this doesn't bother either of you. Neither of you pushed marriage when you found out that you were expecting, and the issue hasn't been pressed since. Things will happen naturally. You're not sure if you have plans for the CIA or if the CIA has plans for you, but either way, as before, life will take its course. And as for children, you know that eventually you will want a family, but right now, you are forging your way, the three of you smoothing the path of this new phase of your lives with love and support. They are all of your being, what you are, and your very existence. They are all you could ever need.

You press a gentle kiss to his cheek, and then he turns, catching your lips in a declaration of his undying love. You think about your wishful childhood dreams and realize why fantasies are just that; fantasies. Because life _happens _, life _is. _You look into his eyes, and everything you feel, the adoration, the affection, the gratitude; they're all mirrored back at you. And suddenly, you're so sure. No fairy tale ending could ever replace your fragment of reality.  
Fin.

Hope you liked it!


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